


Hard Up

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shows up at Havoc's place on a Friday night with a bottle of whiskey and three shots on his breath and says, "You busy?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Up

He shows up at Havoc's place on a Friday night with a bottle of whiskey and three shots on his breath and says, "You busy?"

Havoc doesn't know what to say so he just opens the door and lets the Lieutenant Colonel in, locking it behind him and eyeing the bottle like it's the second coming of the messiah.

"Date ditch you?"

"No." Roy scowls. "I ditched her."

"Yeah? What was wrong with her?" Havoc's got the bottle now, and he's opening it and pouring some into the coffee mug that's been sitting on the table for two days now. "Was she a dude under the skirt?"

"No, that would've been okay," Roy says, and Havoc nearly chokes on his drink. "She was a conservative." The Lieutenant Colonel makes a face, and Havoc wonders just how drunk the man is, to be talking politics with a chick. It wasn't Roy's style, that's for sure.

"Okay," he says, because he's still sort of stuck on the skirt dude comment and Roy's easy acquiescence.

They have to sit on boxes in the living room which is also the bedroom and the kitchen because Havoc still hasn't unpacked and doesn't plan on unpacking. They're in East, and East is too damn hot a place to be doing any kind of labor.

"What's in this box?" Roy asks, slapping the side of the one he's taken for a chair. Havoc squints through whiskey goggles and shrugs.

"Says _kitchenware_ on the side of it. I don't think I own any kitchenware. Call my mother."

"You're kind of sad."

They're both kind of sad, Havoc wants to point out. Hawkeye just finished unpacking the office plus Roy's apartment the night before, and he's heard her complaining about it to Rebecca. He doesn't say that, though.

"So you blew her off," Havoc says instead. "What was her name? Nicole? Nina?"

"Jennifer, actually. You're thinking of the wrong girl."

Havoc vaguely remembers a girl what an N name coming around once or twice in the two weeks since they'd come to East. He's just about to ask the chief how many women he's had since they got there, anyway, when Roy decides to talk again.

"When was the last time you got laid?" He looks all serious about it, too, and Havoc's spitting up a mouthful of whiskey and his eyes and throat are on fire as he tries to think of something to say to stop this conversation from happening. "I guess the answer is that you can't remember?" Roy smirks. Havoc hates that smirk.

"I've been busy," he says, but he's coughing through every word. "We just moved here, yeah? Cut me some slack."

"I've been with five different women since we moved here," Roy informs him.

"There's a name for that, you know," Havoc says, bitter. "Manwhore."

Roy just laughs.

*

The bottle's half done and another's disappearing along with the last traces of civil conversation. Roy was drunk when he walked in Havoc's door, and he's only getting worse as the first hour flies by them and into three. Everything is blurring in Havoc's view. The photos he's almost finished sticking up on the walls and the pictures from the academy are turning into smudges like something a kid colored, and the only thing that's clear is Roy.

Roy is at his best when he's drinking, Havoc thinks. He gets nicer with every shot he tosses back, nicer in words and nicer looking, and suddenly Havoc is watching his commanding officer and thinking about that comment about the man in a skirt – and then he's thinking about _Roy_ in a skirt.

"Holy god," Havoc says aloud. Roy still has the presence of mind to look up at him and say, "Holy god _what_?"

Havoc's mental filter faded somewhere after the eighth shot, so he says, without thinking, "You ever worn a skirt? You'd look good in one."

Roy considers this for a minute. "You think?"

"I guess. I've never thought about it before I started thinking about it," and that sentence made sense before Havoc said it, he's pretty sure. Roy looks like he understands, though, because he's putting his glass down and nodding seriously.

"Lieutenant," he says. "Havoc," he says. Havoc nods at him like, yeah, that's my name, and he doesn't think to say anything as his commanding officer starts moving closer. Suddenly, they're both sitting on the same box, Havoc's ass hanging half off it to accommodate Roy's. "Maes said that once," Roy says.

"Said what?"

"Said I'd look good in a skirt." Roy says it all serious-like. Havoc's trying hard to remember through the inebriated fog who the hell Maes is and gets a picture of a man in glasses for his trouble.

"Oh," Havoc says, because there isn't much else to say. Roy doesn't mind, though, because his mouth is on Havoc's neck, and Havoc should be shoving him the hell off, he's pretty sure.

Guys aren't supposed to neck with other guys. It's in the man handbook, or something. He's going to have to ask Breda about that one.

But since he's drunk, since it feels so good to have Roy's tongue on his neck and Roy's hands wrapped loosely around his shoulders, Havoc just lets him, pulling so Roy's thighs are open across Havoc's lap and he can feel Roy's dick, hard, through his pants.

Havoc tries to ask if they should really be doing this, but Roy seems to take his open mouth as an invitation for his tongue. Havoc can't really complain about the mix up. Roy's lips are sliding against his in a slow, drunken, lazy motion. When Roy's hand goes for his fly, Havoc's lost the will to fight completely, just wants those hands on his cock.

Roy pulls his dick out of his pants and laughs when Havoc's eyes roll back in his head. "You've been pretty hard up, haven't you, lieutenant?" Havoc nods because he doesn't want Roy to stop. The man can say whatever the hell he wants just so long he as keeps that hand moving. Havoc's fucking up into it, pushing until he's driving Roy up in the air a bit with every upward movement. Roy's still laughing like he hasn't had so much fun in ages, and Havoc remembers that Roy's a guy, too, that he has a dick and it probably wants some attention.

He moves his hand slowly, lets it fall on Roy's crotch and rub against the stiff material of his uniform. The strange keening rumble that bubbles up from Roy's chest is oddly gratifying, drives him to press just a bit firmer. Then Roy's panting in his ear, "Get it out, get it _out_ ," and Havoc figures, why the hell not?

Hand in his commanding officer's pants, he tugs Roy's cock out, feels how swollen it is. "Talkin' about hard up," he mutters.

Roy doesn't say anything to that, just thrusts into Havoc's hand pointedly, like, _why is your mouth moving when your hand isn't?_ Bossy prick.

It's hard to move his hand when Roy's tugging him off. They're both trying so hard to grind together, to push against something for a taste of blessed friction, but Havoc's so far gone he can't even remember what harmony is, let alone worry about moving the right way.

When it's over, when he can open his eyes again, Roy's still on his lap, toes skirting the ground and forehead on Havoc's shoulder. Slowly, hesitantly, Havoc rests his hand on the small of the man's back, feels the answering sigh rush against the side of his neck.

A thought strikes him – how badly is this going to fuck things up anyway? – but somehow, he manages to shove it off to the side, right about the time Roy straightens up, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and says, "I never got dinner. You?"

"No."

"Food," Roy tells him, and teeters off his lap, stumbling a bit as he tries to wipe himself off and shove his dick back in his pants. "We can write it off as a military expense."

They're both drunk, probably enough still that they shouldn't even be thinking of leaving Havoc's apartment, but Havoc finds himself taking Roy's hand anyway, letting the man pull him to his feet. He even lets Roy tuck him back in, though it's not like _that_ was a hardship.

"Come on," Roy says, his tone bordering on that of an order, and Havoc, shrugging, follows him.


End file.
